


Weakness

by MarvelNerd



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 3rd person, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Beware, Bisexual House, Childhood Trauma, Drug Abuse, F/M, Homophobia, House is bad at feelings, House is in love with Wilson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, John House is a bad father, M/M, No Age Gap AU, Please Don't Kill Me, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slurs, What Have I Done, Why house is the way he is, implied autism, prepare for pain, this is gonna be a bit long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelNerd/pseuds/MarvelNerd
Summary: John House didn't tolerate weakness. He didn't tolerate a lot of things. Maybe that's why House is the way he is, so emotionally repressed. Maybe his trust was broken by his fourth-grade teacher. Or was it his eighth grade best friend? House didn't know who had hurt him the most anymore. He goes through relationships like they mean nothing to him, but that's probably because he never felt at home with anyone.Anyone besides Wilson.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson, Greg House/Original Female Character(s), Greg House/Original Male Character(s), Greg House/Stacy Warner, Lisa Cuddy/Greg House
Comments: 36
Kudos: 115





	1. Mrs. Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! Let me know what you think. I'll try and post as often as possible, but please bear with me. Online classes are very busy :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!! :D

The first time John House hit him was when he was seven. He had spilled a glass of water onto the tablecloth by accident, and the water spread halfway to the roasted chicken in the center.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Greg said, leaning back in his chair a little bit and feeling very small.

“What did you call me boy?” John stood and his chair screeched across the linoleum floor. Greg flinched and immediately stuttered, “Sir, sorry sir.”

“Are you some kind of sissy apologizing like a damn girl? Get your sorry ass up and face me like a man!”

“Yes sir,” Greg said and stood in front of his father, who slapped him across the cheek with enough force to make him stumble back.

“Stand up straight!” He was hit again, and Greg looked frantically for his mother’s reassuring gaze. She was fiddling with the table cloth, mopping up the water, and ignoring him. His chest squeezed in on itself and Greg had never felt so alone. 

He was grateful to be sent to his room with no dinner, appetite gone anyway. Greg sat on his bed and leaned against the wall. The view out his window showed the arrays of identical houses on the army base. He missed his old house, the one with the Greg-sized cabinets he would play hide and seek inside of. It’s not like he had had many friends back home- all the other boys basically ignored him. There was a sense of belonging in his old home and bedroom, and now Greg didn’t know what to do without it. 

The tears started before he could stop them, but he was desperate to hide them from his father. Greg didn’t like the things his father called him when he cried, even if he didn’t know what they meant.

“Don’t be a faggot, Gregory, men don’t cry,” he yelled, once, after Greg tripped and scraped his elbow. There was such disgust on his face, Greg could only assume he had committed the most egregious of crimes possible.

Sitting on his bed like this he wished him Mother would come and check on him, silently. He wanted her to come and sit down next to him, ask no questions at all, and run her fingers through his hair like she usually did when he was upset. 

She never came.

-

He was in the fourth grade when he met Mrs. Burns. She was a nice woman, a teacher on the reserve that had taken a liking to Greg early in the year.

“Can anyone tell me what four times four is?” She asked, her white frame glasses reflecting the red in her hair.

Greg rolled his eyes as the other students fiddled with their pencils and picked their noses. With a groan he blurted out, “it’s sixteen, obviously. I’m not five anymore.”

Mrs. Burns looked him up and down, and where Greg had expected to see anger and annoyance with his interruption, she winked at him and smiled, “Not everyone is as smart as you, Greg.”

A warm feeling pooled in his stomach that he had never once felt before, and he could barely contain the smile threatening to spread across his cheeks.

At recess, he leaned against the tree and carved new swear words he had learned into it. What else was there to do anyway? All the other students were stupid, and he didn’t want to waste his time on them. They never understood him anyway.

“Hey, Greg,” a voice came from his right, and Greg turned around slowly for effect.

“What is it? Do you want me to tutor you or something because-”

“No, I was wondering…” the boy shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the ground, “If you wanted to play four square with me?”

The boy’s name was Tucker, Greg knew this. Tucker wasn’t exactly well-liked. He was skinny, and his glasses were wide framed and lop-sided. Greg gave him daily about the energy of thought as he would any other classmate, which was close to nothing. Tucker was a weak kid, Greg didn't talk to weak kids. Or any kids, really.

“What’s your name again?” He asked, scrunching his nose as if the boy smelled.

“It’s Tucker,” he smiled, extending his hand. Greg scoffed and turned back to his tree.

“Go play with someone else.”

“Oh,” Tucker stammered, “ok. Have fun with whatever you’re doing…” and then Tucker was gone, and Greg felt his throat tightening.

That afternoon, there was a parent-teacher conference. Greg found the whole idea wildly stupid and sat in his chair with a huff.

“I think your son has a gift,” Mrs. Burns said to John. Greg sat up a little and turned his head, “he is well beyond the capabilities of his classmates in almost every subject. Especially in science and mathematics.”

“Of course he is, he’s a House!” John smiled at his son, and Greg felt like he might finally have won his father’s approval. He felt like he could conquer the world. Maybe the key to his father’s love was school. Greg could do that.”

“Yes, of course. But you see sir- Gregory struggles with some…. Other developmental skills.”

Just as soon as the smile was there, it was gone. Greg stood sat in his little wooden chair and stared at the teacher he thought he trusted. He liked Mrs. Barnes, she understood him. She winked at him. His chest got fuzzy when she called on him. 

“What else is there to know? This is school, right? You’re teaching my son material.”

“Yes, we do teach the material but your son’s problem is with his classmates.”

John laughed and leaned forward in his seat, “Look, ma’am with all due respect, if my son is throwing a few punches here and there I’m not gonna tell him to stop. Mans gotta learn to defend himself.”

Greg reached into his pants pocket and started fiddling with a wood carving he had made. He wanted to look at his mother, but he had learned to stop going to her for comfort years ago. 

“It’s actually the opposite, sir,” she said, “Gregory hasn’t had any interaction with any of his classmates. I think he might have a neurological disorder called aut-”

“You listen here,” John leaned forward even more in his chair and pulled a cigarette out from his pocket, lit it, and put it between his lips, “If you think my _son_ is _retarded_ or something, there are things I can do to change that.”

“No, I think Gregory is a fine young boy. He isn’t,” she stuttered a little, “ _retarded._ I just think he could benefit from a therapist and some mild medication.”

“Well,” John smiled and nodded before rubbing his cigarette into the wood of her clean desk. She looked up slowly, and Greg could see her eyes blow wide.“Thank you for this information. Honey, why don’t you thank the lovely lady for her astute advice?”

Greg’s mother flinched as though snapping out of a trance, “Yes, you’ve been most helpful.”

He could feel Mrs. Burns’s gaze on him now, and Greg knew he should say something, but the words were getting stuck in his throat. His eyes were burning and he _knew_ \- he just knew he shouldn’t have trusted her. He couldn’t bear to look at her, so he nodded at the floor and felt the grip of his father’s hand on his shoulder as they walked out of the school.

Greg was out for four days. He fell down the stairs. 

When he came back, limping on a crutch because his leg was sprained and a black eye, he never raised his hand in her class again. Instead, he purposefully failed every test and avoided every conversation about it. Greg knew his answers were wrong, but she marked every single paper with an A+. It made him feel sick just looking at it. 

If there was anything Greg hated more than the way his father looked at him, it was the pity from anyone else. Pity was for the weak, and Greg knew what happened to the weak.


	2. Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg goes into eighth grade. He hates his new lab partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is definitely a longer chapter, but I really hope you like it. TW// slurs, child abuse

The era of no friends pursued. Greg didn’t mind really. The assumption that everyone around him was utterly incompetent only got stronger as he climbed grades. One thing that did change, though, was his appearance. He had always been taller, but he sprouted again in eighth grade along with muscles and a voice drop. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have any guy friends- the number of girls fawning over him was enough attention. Diane, a girl in his grade, had taken a particular interest in him. 

She was pretty and had developed before all the other girls. There was nothing to hold him back from her, but he still wasn’t accepting her offers. Her plentiful, constant offers. The novelty of being admired was a pleasant hum in his chest whenever she whispered to her friends about him in the hallway. 

Greg’s boots, old but polished, tapped on the tile of the hallway on his way to Biology class. He didn’t really like biology if Greg was being honest. He much preferred math, where all the answers were obvious, and only stupid people came to the wrong conclusions. Math was where he could flaunt his intelligence like a neon sign on his forehead. He had math with Diane, which was an added bonus for when she would smile dolefully at him every time he got a problem right. 

He also didn’t like biology because of Charlie Downham, who unfortunately happened to be his lab partner. Charlie was horrible at biology. In fact, he was so bad at biology, nearly every class he would throw his hands up in the air and pick up his latest novel again. Where Greg was the class math prodigy, Charlie was the English one. For God's sake, the kid read eight books a week and always found it vital to share odd lines of poetry to him across the black table.

“Nice of you to join us today, House, maybe be more timely with your visit next time,” Mr. Kink said as he walked in the classroom five minutes late. Mr. Kink liked to call his students by their last name, Greg had no idea why. He really hadn’t meant to be late anyway, it just happened sometimes when he didn’t want to be somewhere. 

“Make me,” Greg mocked. Mostly because he took every opportunity he could to slip in a joke about the man’s last name.

Mr. Kink ignored him and continued with his lesson and explanation for what he called ‘today’s exciting new science adventure’. The name alone made him want to puke in his mouth.

“And with that, everyone find your lab partners and go to your tables.”

Greg huffed when he stood and wandered aimlessly to the backmost bench seat where Charlie was already sitting, one leg crossed over the other, and a book in his lap. He could feel his eyes resisting the incessant urge to roll themselves.

“Earth to Shakespear!” Greg said, dropping the textbook loudly on the table, “Would you like me to do the project alone? Maybe I can scribble your little name on top of the report I, unfortunately, fail.”

“You would never do yourself the indignity of failing a lab report,” Charlie said, not looking up from his book, “It’s just not in your nature.”

“Oh what do you know about my nature,” he propped a test tube with hydrogen peroxide into its holder, “There are quite a few things I could say about your nature,  _ Charles. _ Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask how you maintain an A in this class when you do about no work. Is it big? Or just super juicy?”

Charlie huffed out a laugh and looked him up and down, “please,  _ Greg _ , get off your high horse.”

Greg shifted minutely on his chair and leaned forward, “Just because you can analyze books like a hooker does old man pubes doesn’t mean you know me.”

“I don’t know, maybe it does,” he shrugged, “Why haven't you gone out with Diane yet? I’m sure she’d let you bang her in the broom closet if you so much as looked her in the eyes.”

Greg pursed his lips, “Her boobies just don’t jiggle enough for me.”

“Yeah, sure. Do the damn lab and shut up,” Charlie said, returning to his book as if nothing had been said at all.

He wanted to make another remark, but Kinky-boots was walking by the lab table, and getting a reprimand wasn’t something he was currently in the mood for. Instead, he did the lab and got a near-perfect percent error. The whole time he eyed Charlie from across the table and tried for the hundredth time to deduce him out.

Blonde hair was swept in a tangle over his forehead as he read  _ A Picture of Dorian Gray _ . He would have laughed if it wasn’t so typical. They were in the middle of rural Virginia, the House’s latest army trip, yet Charlie was wearing a brown blazer, white turtleneck, and black slacks. He looked like some kind of uptight librarian and Greg hated him for it. 

“Alright, class, remember to finish your projects due tomorrow with your lab partner and go home.”

Charlie closed his book shut and removed his crossed feet from the desk, “I assume you have already completed our assignment?”

“It requires two people, actually. So  _ no _ , I haven't ‘completed our assignment,” 

“You’re telling me I have to go to your house?” Charlie gasped, looking like he was going to have a heart attack.

“How horrible. Be there at four,” Greg handed him a slip of paper with his address and left without another word.

Diane was waiting for him in the hallway, her hand pressed against her hip with a smile. 

“Hi Diane,” he said, plastering the same stupid smile on his face. Whatever he did before four p.m, he would prove that stupid rat wrong. Wrong for what? He didn’t even know what he was being accused of. 

“Hi Greg,” She blushed.

“I was wondering,” he pulled the duffle bag on his arm and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “meet me under the bleachers in twenty minutes.”

Her eyes lit up like he had given her the winning lottery numbers for the next ten years. 

“Sure,” and then she and her friends were gone, and his skin was left buzzing as he went the long way to the football field.

The bleachers had turf under them and basically no light. It was perfect for teenage shenanigans, proven by the splattering of beer cans, cigarettes, and condoms. He had stolen a roll two years ago when his father asked why he didn’t have a girlfriend yet. It’s not like he didn’t want a girlfriend then, it just wasn’t on top ten important things for Greg to do in the sixth grade. He stole them anyway and still carried them in his backpack.

He didn’t even have time to breathe before she was pushing him into the brick. Her hands dug into his sides, and he was vaguely aware that  _ he  _ was supposed to be doing the movements, but he melted into her grip anyway. 

Before he even kissed her, she was reaching up his shirt and feeling his chest. Taking the opportunity, he placed his lips on hers as harshly as he could. He was in control of her, not the other way around. That’s how these things worked. She tasted like grape juice and chapstick, weaving her tongue into his mouth.

His skin was on fire everywhere she touched him, frantic and sloppy. She got on her knees and was unbuttoning his jeans like she had done it a million times before. Something ran through him then, even when her lips were closing around him and he could see her face in the cracks of light from the bleachers. He wasn’t special to her, she had done this before. She was good at it though, and he was cumming in her mouth before even knew it was happening.

She stood and licked a line up his chest before kissing him once more and leaving. He was a mess there, pants undone and panting. He had never done anything like that before ever and felt stupid that he had even thought of the condoms. What had he expected? Lovemaking? A romantic session of passion under the school bleachers? Never before had Greg felt more stupid and humiliated.

Pulling up his pants and catching his breath, Greg saw his watch said three. He did laugh then.  _ A half-hour _ . It was over that fast. He walked home feeling light-headed and serene, forgetting entirely he had the spawn of satan philosophers joining him in an hour.

By force of habit, Greg opened the front door as quiet as possible. His dad’s car was in the driveway, grey, and used Ford with a headlight out. There were soft voices coming from the study, his father on a work call. It was fine. He was fine.

His bed was soft when he landed on it, not so gracefully flopping onto his back and letting the post- whatever it was- wash over him. Diane’s mouth, her breasts, they all passed through his mind like some kind of dream. His eyes slipped closed for a moment, and he let the peace wash over him.

This peace was ruined, of course, by a face inches from his.

“What the hell,” he started to shout, but remembered his father and lowered his voice.

“Here for the project, boy genius,” Charlie said and sat next to him.

“How did you get-”

“I snuck in,” he scratched his head and looked at the wall.

“So my dad didn’t see you come in?”

“No,” he replied. Greg sat up.

“You know it’s illegal to break into someone's home, right?” He said, trying to lighten the thickness that had settled between them.

Charlie snorted, “Sure. Can you stop stalling so I can leave.”

“You think I want you to be here? I have many beautiful girls coming over shortly.”

With a piercing look that made Greg want to crawl back into his skin, Charlie spoke again, “Oh my god.”

“What?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and burst out into quiet laughter, “you did it.”

“I fucked her,” he said, feeling ridiculously smug, “It was great, her lips wrapped right around-”  
“Alright, alright,” Charlie paused and reached to get his backpack, “I _get_ it.”

“You’re jealous because the preppy boy look doesn’t get you any pussy,” Greg pushed, “they always go for the bad guys. Always have bigger-”

“Shut up!” Charlie shouted far too loud than he should have, “I can get a girl whenever I want. English girls love a man who reads poetry.”

“Then why don’t you have one?” Greg taunted.

“Why didn’t your sex with Diane meet expectations?” he raised an eyebrow.

Greg shut up, and they worked on the project as the sun began to set. Dinner, Greg knew, was going to be exactly at 7:45. It was currently 7:15 and they were three quarters done with the report. Charlie was sprawled out on his bed, blazer hung up on the post, and turtle neck folded pulled up slightly as the night chill had drifted into his bedroom. 

Observantly, Greg watched him there. Why had he asked that? Greg was the problem solver. He knew these answers. A halfwit like Charlie wasn’t going to outsmart him on something as socially acceptable and normal as a first blowjob. He came to the conclusion, as he finished writing the fifth page of the report, that he had been watching too many movies where teenagers first times were romantic and life-changing. It was just sex- it felt great, but there was nothing else to it.

“You need to sneak out again,” he said at 7:30.

“I’m not done yet-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Greg ground his teeth, “you have to leave.”

Charlie stood from the bed and packed his bag, “why?”

“Dinner is at 7:45 and my parents don’t know you’re here-”

“I get it,” he smiled lopsidedly and paused at the door. For a second Greg thought he was going to turn around and say something, but he continued out the door as if he hadn’t stopped at all.

-

He met Diane under the bleachers the very next day. It was different this time, he touched her too. She moaned under his fingers, and he was pretty sure he was going to finish before she even got below palming his jeans if she kept doing that. As these things go, he did do just that. In his pants. 

She giggled and leaned into his palm even more, “aren't you glad we started doing this?”

He swallowed thickly and raised his brow as she trembled, “yeah, you could say that.”

When he got home, Charlie was sitting on his porch.

“Sorry I must have misunderstood, did we have another project due? Or do you just enjoy loitering on my property.”

“I was bored,” he shrugged and stood.

“Well, that’s such a brilliant explanation for a poet, man you should submit that for an award or something! Bet it will win loads of Pulitzers-”  
“Shut up and walk with me.”

“Gotta piss first,” he lied and pushed behind Charlie to waltz to his bedroom, change underwear, and wait for long enough to hope Charlie had cut his losses and left. He didn’t.

“For God's sake, what  _ is  _ it?”

“Will you just follow me?”

Greg looked him up and down, wondering why the hell this kid wanted to spend any time with him at all, “fine.”

They walked down several streets Greg didn’t know and followed random dirt paths through the woods making snide comments and passive-aggressive insults. 

“Are we almost  _ there? _ ” he asked for the fifth time in twenty minutes.

“We are there, actually,” Charlie smiled and walked into a clearing in the woods. There were slabs of stone protruding from the grass in a somewhat arranged fashion and Greg quickly concluded that Charles Downham had taken him to a graveyard.

“Are you going to murder me?” He asked smugly.

“No, not yet,” there was a smile on Charlie’s face that Greg hadn’t seen before. It crept along his cheeks like a pliable feather, white teeth shining ever so slightly as he looked at Greg.

“Then why?”

“I like it here,” he said simply, leaning on a particularly large fallen log.

Greg frowned, “And you took me somewhere you like because…?”

“You just don’t get it,” he sighed and brushed his hair from his face.

“Are you going to lecture me on proper intercourse with a woman? How I’m ruining my perfect catholic purity by getting my dick sucked by the slut of our grade? Pretty sure Diane is a protestant, so that’s not gonna fly-”

Charlie stomped toward him and got in his face, “I know you, Greg! You have no friends. No one  _ likes  _ you. You think you’re so god damned intelligent, and you’re right. You think you have everyone figured out, well guess what!” Charlie spat in the ground, “you don’t! You don’t know me at all!”

Greg stood in shock as he watched Charlie scream. He was used to screaming, of course, it happened daily at home. Coming from Charlie, it felt worse somehow. The only person who would even tolerate his existence on occasion was standing right in front of him, mad for some unknown reason. Greg was bad at people stuff, he’d known that since fourth grade when he fell down the stairs.

“What is it, Charlie, just tell me,” he offered in a soft tone he saved for his mother on special occasions.

Charlie softened, brown eyes falling to the ground along with his demeanor. He sat on the grass with a huff, tucking his knees into his chest. Greg followed suit. Then, before Greg even knew what was happening, Charlie was kissing him. It was so unexpected he stood there frozen for a good moment, a range of emotions plowing through his body. His heart was racing, and the pair of unmoving and delicate lips on his were soft and apprehensive. Greg gripped his hand into the grass and he felt his own lips start to move before he pulled back abruptly. 

Charlie was flushed but still, obviously prepared for whatever backlash he was inevitably about to receive. Greg wiped his tingling lips with his coat sleeve, “What are you some kind of faggot? What the hell is wrong with you! You’re the only person I talk to so you think I’ve got some perversion?”

“No, Greg, please listen-”

“Don’t-” he scooted back in the grass and began to stand, but then Charlie was tackling him and their lips were connected again. He tried to pull away for a moment as his blood rushed through his head but Charlie pinned his hands into the grass and looked him in the eye.

“If you really don’t want this, tell me now and I’ll never talk to you again,” Greg panted underneath him, mind racing. Charlie was warm, brown wool sweater cuffs brushing gently against his own wrists, “Forget what anyone has ever told you and look at me. What do you want?”

Greg kissed him again. This time he relaxed into the grass and let it happen. Charlie was smiling into his lips, a slow and gentle drag of tongue across tongue. It was so different from Diane, so much richer and full of real emotion. He thought he finally understood what the lifetime movies meant.

They lay like that for hours, kissing in the graveyard. There was nothing else there, just the occasional switch of position and stifled a laugh. Greg was pretty sure he hadn’t felt so satisfied in his life.

“See you in biology tomorrow,” Charlie said when the sun was starting to set, grinning with the orange haze reflecting on his eyes.

“Yeah,” Greg rubbed the back of his neck and smiled back. 

He started to take a liking to biology. In fact, it rapidly became his favorite subject. He spent his afternoons with Charlie, lounging around and reading books. Greg would make fun of him for only reading poetry, and Charlie would laugh and kiss him and point to silly diagrams in his anatomy textbook while making crude jokes.

For the first time in Greg’s life, he felt like he had found a home. 

His mother never questioned his uplifted mood, but he saw her smiling softly at him more often than usual. This went on for years. Ninth grade came and went, then tenth and Greg was pretty sure he wanted to be a doctor by that point.

“So Gregory,” John House said at dinner one night as he jabbed into a slice of ham, “Have you found yourself a girlfriend yet?”

Greg gripped his fork tightly in his hand and swallowed the lump of potato at the back of his throat.

“You’re a sophomore now, it’s about time for you to think about settling down.”

“I’m still thinking about school-”

“Yeah, med school, I know. Wish you’d follow in the family line and join the army,” he scowled and took a big swig of beer. 

“John, sweetheart, a doctor is a very honorable career choice.”

John glared at her, “for some kinda sissy that don’t like to get their hands dirty, sure. Always about that brain of yours, never the muscle.”

“At least I have one,” Greg muttered under his breath.

“What was that, boy?” 

“I said at least I have one, sir,” he repeated smugly.

John slammed his fist in the table, “You better learn your place, boy, or I swear to God. You’re sleeping in the yard tonight.”

Greg’s stomach dropped, “It’s ten degrees outside.”

“Even better!” John shouted, “teach you some discipline!”

Greg slammed his seat from the table and grabbed his jacket before storming out of the house and skulking to the backyard. It was bone-chillingly cold, even after he had buttoned up his coat. There was a dog house in their yard even though they had never owned one themselves. It was the previous owner’s installation and for the most part Greg’s second bedroom.

He always had the dog house primed for nights like these, they happened frequently. The floor was covered in a foil emergency blanket he had nailed into the dirt when he was thirteen. Next to it was a small battery lamp, a pair of gloves, a rolled-up blanket, and an old cracker box he had expanded to act as a door. Under the blanket, he was a little warmer. The cardboard blocked out the wind, and Greg closed his eyes and imagined himself lying with Charlie in their graveyard.

When he woke up, there was snow piled halfway up his cardboard door and his teeth were chattering.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pushing the door open and crawling out the exit. Without even looking in the house, he got on his bike and peddled to school. On the way there, he started coughing. It didn’t matter, such things were expected from someone who slept in the freezing cold for a night.

The heat of the school was a warm welcome. His classmates looked at him as though he was homeless, which he probably looked to most people anyway.

“Didn’t you hear?” he said to the nearest group of girls mumbling about him, “homeless sheak is in style.” 

His coughing progressed throughout the day, so much so that by the time he got to advanced anatomy he was too out of breath to focus.

“Greg what the hell happened to you?” Charlie muttered over their lab table. To the rest of the school, Greg and Charlie still hated each other. Due to his tone, anyone that overheard would have assumed it was mocking, but Greg heard the way Charlie had said his name. Worried.

“Felt like taking a nap in the snow last night, super cozy actually-” he paused to cough into his arm and resisted the overwhelming urge to pass out on the table.

“It was your father again, wasn’t it?” Charlie seethed, “I knew it. I’m coming over today.”

“No,” Greg panicked, “No he can’t see you.”

“Why not? You’re allowed to have friends aren't you?”

Greg snorted, “You’re not my  _ friend. _ ”

“He doesn’t have to know that! Plus, if I meet your folks, we won’t have to sneak around as much anymore. Come on, what do you say?”

He was too tired to disagree, so Greg nodded. He informed his mother of their dinner guest as soon as he got home and disappeared into his bedroom for a hot shower.

Charlie arrived on time for dinner. His hair was gelled neatly in style, Greg’s favorite brown sweater pulled over a white polo shirt. Greg nodded and smiled softly at him when he opened the door.

“No flippant remarks,” Charlie muttered before making his way into the dining room. Greg huffed.

“I was informed we were having a friend of Greg’s over for dinner,” John smiled, looking to the world like a normal person.

“I’m Charles, sir, Charles Downham,” he said, sticking out his hand for a shake.

John shook it and they both sat down at the table, his mother and father at the head and Greg and Charlie on one side.

“So, how did you become friends?” Greg’s mother asked kindly as she sipped red wine.

“Biology class,” Charlie smiled, “we were assigned lab partners.”

“I see,” John said.

“Greg is very good at biology, he is the top of the class. I think he’s going to get into Hopkins.”

“That’s very kind of you,” his mother smiled.

“Yes, very kind,” Greg smirked and bowed his head down to stifle a laugh.

“Something funny?” John asked.

“No sir.”

Charlie shifted in his seat and bumped Greg’s foot with his own.

There was small talk for the rest of the dinner. Greg was on edge the entire time, still coughing into his tea and worried Charlie would slip up and reveal the nature of their friendship. He didn’t, though. Stayed in character; girl loving, straight as an arrow, perfect-boy-type the entire dinner.

“We have an assignment for tomorrow due,” Charlie said, “would you mind if we were excused to work on it?”

John smiled openly at his manners, “yes of course. Go ahead.”

Greg followed Charlie up the stairs to his own bedroom where Charlie abruptly shut the door and slammed him into the bed.

“We can’t do this here-” Greg moaned as Charlie kissed his neck.

“Oh please,” Charlie said between kisses, “we always have to do this in the woods or some dark alley. We have your room. Think of how much more poetic this is.”

Greg rolled his eyes and pulled away from Charlie’s touch, “You don’t know my dad. If he finds out-”  
“Greg,” Charlie said in that way only he could. The way that made Greg want to melt into him and never leave, “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

A hand was brushed over his cheek and Greg nodded. He trusted Charlie more than anything.

Of course, Charlie was right, he always was. Sex in bed was much better than the woods.

“ _ Greg _ ,” Charlie breathed while they kissed each other. He would never get sick of hearing that word come from his mouth, “I love you.”

Greg froze and stared into Charlie’s eyes, pupils blown as his chest heaved on top of him. He didn’t know what to say.

“I love-”

The door opened with a creak. They didn’t have time to jump away from each other. 

“Your mother says dessert-” John began to say and froze in his spot at the door, “I knew it.”

Greg hurled himself away from Charlie, almost naked except for the pants down at his ankles. Panic rose in his chest greater than any he had ever felt before.

“I knew you were a fucking faggot. What a joke. Get out of my house!” John said, directing himself to Charlie, who looked as if he were about to throw up, “Get out!”

Charlie barely had time to get dressed. He stumbled down the stairs with Greg’s favorite brown wool sweater against his bare chest. 

“Greg I’m sorry-” he managed to sob before the door was locked in his face.

John grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs. Greg took it. He took the punches. He took the insults. He sat in the fully drawn ice bath and didn’t even let his teeth chatter. 

The dog house was stripped of its supplies, he didn’t care. He sat in it and stared at the snow falling. His father had screamed that they were moving again. Greg would never see Charlie again. Never hear his name said that way again. He thought about what Mr. Kink had called him in eighth grade.  _ House _ . He decided that’s what people would call him then. He never wanted to hear Greg again, the word put a horrible taste in his mouth. Or maybe that was the blood.

“He promised he would never let anything happen to me,” Greg muttered through blue lips to the ceiling of the dog house.  _ I guess everybody lies _ , he thought to himself as the cold wrapped itself around him and he fell asleep.

Everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll try and get the next part out soon. Be sure to leave a comment :)


	3. Rebecca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a letter from Hopkins on his dining room table and a dorm room with a missing roommate.

There was a letter from Hopkins on the dining room table when he got home, hair a mess and clothes rumpled. He stared at it for a long while, white envelope crisp except for the dried rain spot in the corner. It was almost ridiculous how unfazed he felt. Colleges didn’t send letters like that back unless you were accepted. 

Part of him wanted to tear open the letter and find out that he had finally made it in life. His father was wrong, House  _ was _ worth something. When he had applied five months ago, there was no one there to encourage him. Blythe had stopped talking to him for the most part after he was caught. House didn’t like to think about his prolonged  _ phase  _ very often.

There was a girl he was dating. Had been dating her for the last two years of high school. She was nice, big tits and everything. House liked her. Rebecca came over for family dinners- she kissed him in the hallways. They fucked in the janitor's closet, the bathroom, and his own bedroom. What a strange thing it was to kiss her there.

He left the door open when they were doing it. She asked, once, why he did that. House pulled a smug face and made a joke about exhibitionism and how Freud would get a kick out of it, though he was pretty much certain she was too stupid to know who that was, or why he said it. 

House also liked that she wasn’t very intelligent- never challenged him. She was a bag of frozen peas dulling the throb in his temple. He could be as open or as closed off as he wanted with her and it wouldn’t matter. She didn’t understand him at all, and it was refreshing to kiss someone who didn’t. Cleansing. 

“House,” she smiled, walking through his front door and grabbing onto his shoulder. Her eyes blew wide when she saw the letter on the table, “Babe! They responded!”

“Apparently,” he replied unenthusiastically. 

“Why don’t you open it?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples, but before he could get another word in she was nibbling at his ear, “Come on, you’ve been waiting for this.”

Pulling away from her, he dug his nail into the glue of the envelope and pulled it out.

“Well?” 

He skimmed the paper, glanced at the wall, and crumbled up the paper into a ball.

“What the hell, Greg?”

“Don't,” he put up a finger and swallowed, “call me that-”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m your girlfriend! I should at least be able to call you by your first name,” she smirked and leaned in to kiss him again, “does it turn you on,  _ Greg _ , Greg Greg-”

“I said shut up!” he pushed her away and walked to the door. She was standing there in shock, hands on her hips when he opened it.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

House rolled his eyes and gawked at her, “No, I’m taking you on a free vacation to Hawaii.”

“We were going to get married! You were going to be a doctor and-”

House barked out a laugh and hit his knee with his hand for effect, “You thought we were going to get  _ married _ ?”

He watched as tears pooled in her eyes, feeling only a little bad.

“Look, Rebecca, this is High School. You can do better than me.”

She squinted at him and deflated a little, “did you ever love me?”

The paper ball in his hand crinkled even more with his grip, the door banging behind Rebecca as she left for good.

House squeezed the bridge of his nose and tossed his scholarship letter, full ride, in the trash can.

-

When House moved into his dorm, he relished in the fact that his father was hauling some of his furniture. The man did not look particularly happy to be doing so, and House assumed the only reason he  _ was _ doing it was to get his son out of his life sooner. The devil was in the details anyway.

There was an awkward hug from his mother, subtle nod from his father, and then they were gone and House was finally free. It was odd, to say the least. His dorm was pretty much still empty, and he assumed he would be meeting his assigned roommate soon enough. On the wall, a sheet of paper with his name on it hung by a thumbtack. Next to his own name, was presumably the name of his roommate. _James Wilson_

Through his window, there was a view of some trees and the other dorm buildings. It was nothing special, really, but he enjoyed its simplicity. House was eighteen, and not legally old enough to drink at all, so naturally, the first thing on his agenda was to get wasted at a bar. 

He wandered the campus for a few hours until it got dark, taking a moment to memorize the paths to his relatively close classes. Physics was the degree he was going for, not because he didn’t want to be a doctor, but because he knew it didn’t really make a difference what his bachelor's degree was. Med school came after, and he might as well dabble in another field. He did find dark matter interesting, after all. 

At last, the time for drinking came, and House followed the large groups of the student body with similar ideas to him. The first bar he came across that was sketchy enough to accept his fake ID was about a twenty-minute walk from the dormitories. It wasn’t bad all things considered. 

The bar was crowded, packed to the brim with sweaty students dancing to the pulsing music. He adjusted his t-shirt and attempted to fix his hair before waltzing toward the bar and pulling out his wallet.

“Yeah, yeah,” the bartender told him, waving a hand at it, “what do you want, kid?”

“Beer,” he smiled, and the guy handed him a brown glass bottle. House sat on the nearest stool and leaned back to survey the crowd. There was a group of friends packed into a red velvet booth in the corner, taking rounds of shots. A handful of couples were grinding into each other like animals on the dance floor, and he felt embarrassed for them. It was only eight.

At the other end of the bar, though, was one young man who looked to be in particular distress. His head was in his hands, what looked like a glass of scotch beside his elbow, and a manilla folder slightly askew on the tabletop.

House observed him incredulously, the man looked young enough to be a student. What kind of eighteen-year-old walked around with a manilla folder and enough stress in his shoulders to pass as thirty. He took a sip of his beer and continued to watch from the other end of the bar. 

On the jukebox, House watched as a girl tossed some coins in and played Leave a Tender Moment Alone. The man at the end of the bar tensed up and rubbed his eyes. 

“Hey, handsome,” a feminine voice said as a hand was placed on his arm. He turned to her and smiled.

“Nice dress,” he noted, following the sharp lines of her figure contoured in the lime green of the body con dress.

“Like what you see?” She leaned into him and smirked.

“It depends,” he stood from his spot and placed a hand on her waist, “how much do you charge?”

Immediately she pulled away from him in disgust, expression rapidly shifting to furious, “how dare you-”

“With a dress like that, I could have only assumed the worst honeybunch,” he winked and took another sip of his beer before she stormed away and he went back to his business.

The song was coming to an end, and when House glanced to see who was going to change the song, the same girl was there, playing the song again. The man at the end of the bar, looking frantic in the short time House’s attention had been redirected, stood and stormed toward her.

“Do NOT,” he breathed, getting in her face, “play that damn song again.”

“Watch it, buddy,” a man twice the size of the bar-man said and stepped in front of the girl.

“Just play any other song, please,” he ran a hand through his hair.

“The girl likes the song,” Bulky-man growled, taking a step closer to bar-man, “you trying to start something?”

“No, no,” he clamored, gripping noticeably more tightly onto his glass, “an ex of mine played the song all the time and I just can’t-”

The bulk-man huffed and took the coin from the girl before shoving it in the machine and playing the song again. The man from the bar abruptly lost his shit and threw his glass at the man, who dodged it with basically no effort.

House winced a little when it crashed into the mirror above him, gold-rimmed and probably expensive. Bar-man stood there in shock as the glass shattered onto the ground and the room went dead quiet, just the song playing on the jukebox.

“I’m calling the cops,” the bartender yelled, “that was an antique!”

“Leave the kid alone,” House intervened, walking toward the dumbfounded man clutching his manilla folder, “can’t you see he’s intoxicated?”

“Who the hell are you?” he asked House.

“Don’t worry about it,” House whispered to the man.

“Look, buddy, unless you step away you’re getting charged too.”

“Woah Woah Woah,” House pushed his hands down in an attempt at peace, “calm down over there slim Jim.”

The bartender grimaced and looked like he was about to explode again, but the police came barging in and the man next to him was in handcuffs. House took a dramatic last sip of his beer, slammed it on the bar, and walked out after placing a wad of cash into the wet neck of the bottle.

“Thanks for the beer,” he smiled, and left to follow the cop car.

The station was only a few blocks away. He had looked at a map of the city earlier in the day. Something about the man intrigued him. It’s not like House had gotten a good look at him in the heat of the moment, but his hair was brown and well-trimmed. His clothes fit the general idea- a grey suit with a half tied tie. The man looked exhausted both emotionally and physically, so naturally, House was drawn to him.

“Hi,” he said happily to the cop at the desk.

She raised an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“I’m here to bail out my friend.”

“What’s his name?”

House displayed a toothy grin and leaned into the desk, “Tall, brown hair, messed up suit, unnatural hatred for mirrors…”

“I asked for his name,” she deadpanned.

“Well,” he looked at her name tag, “ _ Patty _ , I don’t know-” The man’s manilla folder was behind the desk, resting in a crate labeled  _ James Wilson _ . Everything clicked in his head at once, and House had to resist the urge to grin like a child, “Wilson. James Wilson. Can I take him now?”

She stood, eyeing him suspiciously before leading him to the back cells. The man himself had sat himself down in a corner, his head in his hands.

“Hi Jimmy,” House smiled through the bars. “Jimmy” looked up immediately, looking incredibly confused.

“Do I know-”

“Don’t listen to him,” House rolled his eyes playfully, “poor man must have hit his head. He’s been through quite the ordeal.”

“Sure,” she said and unlocked the door. James then stood, a little wobbly on his feet, and House took an arm around his shoulders and led him out of the station.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, squinting at House when they were clear of the station, "Did I see you at the bar?"

“Gregory House,” House said, ignoring the question.

“Why did you bail me out, again?”

“You were carrying that folder.”

James lifted the manilla folder in his hand, looked at it, then looked back at House, “Look, Greg-”

“House is fine,” he corrected, James just blinked a few times and continued on.

“House. Thank you for bailing me out, but I still don’t understand.”

House sighed, “You were carrying that folder and drinking in a bar when you're clearly only old enough to be a student. You were nursing that drink like a middle-aged man whose wife kicked him out on the street-”

James scratched his nose and looked at the ground.

“Oh my god,” House mused, “you’re married.”

“Was married,” James said, looking very sad and completely exhausted.

House had just met the man, and if he had any chance of talking to him again he knew he had to pull back a bit on the interrogation even if it pained him to do so.

“Are you a student here?” He asked.

James looked relieved at the change of topic, “yeah. Still haven't found my dorm yet. Came right to the bar.”

“What a coincidence, my roommate hasn’t shown up yet,” House feigned confusion and rubbed his chin.

The man did a double-take, looking at House with an array of conflicting emotions in his brown eyes, “did you know I was-”

“No, of course not Jimmy,” he smiled and put his arm around his roommate, “Let’s get you home anyway.”

“If I’m going to be calling you House, it would be odd for you to call me Jimmy,” he offered halfway back to the dorms.

“Wilson it is,” House smiled a little and enjoyed the night wind blowing through his hair. He didn’t know much about Wilson, but from what he had already deduced, he had finally found himself a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Please leave a comment and I hope you enjoyed :D Part four probably coming this weekend.


	4. The Library Girl, or Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House and Wilson: First week as roommates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm really sorry this chapter is so late. Schoolwork has been killing me and I've had little to no time. I hope you like the chapter, and the story will start picking up in the next one :)

“So,” House said as soon as the dorm room door was shut and Wilson was sitting on his unmade, bare cot, “married at… some age that people normally  _ don’t  _ get married at and divorced at, what, 18?19?”

“We just met each other, and you're asking me questions about my ex-wife?” Wilson groaned and leaned back onto his back.

“My favorite color panties are red. See? Now we both have shared something significant.”

Wilson looked incredibly flustered after that comment, “who do you think you are?”

House shrugged, “the man who bailed you out of jail.”

“I already thanked you for that-”

“And I’m still waiting for an answer,” House clicked his tongue and sat on his own bed, “why did you marry your wife so young? Let me guess, you were just so in  _ love  _ with each other and your mommy was  _ dying  _ for you to settle down so she even signed the paper that let the baby-making happen.”

“It was my father that signed the papers,” 

“Ah, so either you were insufferable and he wanted you out of the house or-”

“Can you just stop talking?” Wilson looked away from the ceiling to look at his roommate who was grinning like he had drunk more than just half a beer.

“Sure,” House stood and walked to his duffle bag sitting at the end of the bed, “when are your bags getting here?”

“They were supposed to be here today, but the damn moving van blew out a tire.”

“You hired a  _ moving van  _ to get you to college?” House squinted at him, “what are you, a girl?”

Wilson huffed a breath from his lips and mumbled, “I think I’m going to request a new roommate.”

After a quick and unnoticeable pause, House grabbed a folded white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants from his own bag, “here,” he said softly.

Wilson took the clothes with a tentative hand, as though if he weren't careful enough House would bite it off, “thanks.”

House nodded and got under the sheets while Wilson went to change in their shared bathroom.

He was having a particularly nice dream when a screeching beep rang into his ears. House shoved his pillow closer into his ears and pretended it wasn’t happening. When he squinted his eyes open, the dorm room was still dark.

“Wilson, I think your alarm is broken,” he mumbled.

“Well, then it would be  _ your  _ alarm because mine is with all my other clothes.”

“I didn’t have it set for-” he looked at his watch on the side table, “5 am. Who wakes up at 5 am?”

“I do,” Wilson replied, already standing up and looking ridiculously ruffled in House’s clothes.

House groaned and managed to sleep through Wilson’s lengthy morning routine without mentioning the fact that Wilson had dug through his stuff to find his alarm. 

Unfortunately, after an indefinite time had passed, his arms were being shaken from his sheets.

“Hey man, just because I have sheets on my bed doesn’t mean you can use them.”

“Get up, House, you have a class at eight.”

House looked up at Wilson, who’s hair was put in place and the suit from last night was secured on him, “It’s 6:30. How do you know my Class schedule?”

“Do you not eat breakfast?” he ignored the question.

“Not at  _ six-thirty _ .”

Wilson shrugged, “suit yourself, I’m leaving.”

With a noncommittal shrug, House closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up again, his watch said 8:05.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, hastily pulling on a sweater and sneakers before heading toward his first class. It wasn’t that House cared very much about being late, it was more that he didn’t want to get kicked out after a week because that would mean he would have to go home.

The door to his differential equations class squeaked when he kicked it open at 8:15. A few students looked in his direction, but the professor didn’t even flinch so House sat himself down somewhere in the middle row and took out a pencil to chew on. There was a kid next to him, tall and lanky. His hair was a complete disaster on top of his head- waves and strands going in awkward directions. On his shoulders sat a worn leather jacket.

“Hey,” the kid said, and House nodded, “you’re late.”

“Yeah, and the moon landing was faked.”

The kid stared at him for a moment, and House could almost see the joke go over his head.

“Dylan Crandall,” he said finally, stretching out his hand.

Scoffing at the gesture, House decided to reply anyway, “House.”

“Your name is House?” He asked.

“Yep.”

“Like where you live?”

“Apparently not where you do,” House mused and once again participated in Dylan’s confusion, “don’t bother.”

Dylan’s mouth formed an ‘o’ momentarily.

“I’m having a party tonight, want to come?” he asked after a few moments spent note-taking.

House peeled his eyes away from the instructor, who had obscenely large breasts, to focus on Dylan again, “we just met.”

“And? Why not, man. Gotta get out at some point.”

The class continued on.

“Wilson,” House said as soon as he arrived back at the dorm, “you’re coming with me to a party tonight.” The man in question was sitting behind his desk with an open textbook.

“I’m busy tonight.”

“ _ Busy? _ ” House mocked, “God, get a life. This is college, Wilson, not boot camp.”

“I’m getting my degree in biology and chemistry, studying starts early and heavily-”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll come and pick you up at eight.”

“Where are you going?” Wilson asked, and he actually looked up from his textbook.

“Gotta pregame- buy some latex gloves,” he winked and grabbed his backpack before walking out again, catching a glimpse of Wilson’s smile on the way out.

Because House wasn’t stupid, and actually did want to graduate, he went to the library to get work done. It was quiet- the perfect place to ruin everyone’s peace. He was halfway through his second assignment when, out of the corner of his eye, House saw someone sit across from him.

She was blonde and tall, so with no apparent attempt to hide his ogling, House decided to stare right at her chest. She shifted slightly once she saw him doing it, some type of half-grimace passing over her pretty face before it settled again.

“Would you mind?” She turned a page of her textbook.

“Sorry, I was just so distracted by your breasts I couldn’t focus on this horribly important schoolwork.”   


“You could move,” she suggested. House leaned closer and could smell her flowery perfume.

“I was sitting here first.”

“And I’m not moving,” she adjusted the thin frame glasses on her nose and smirked.

“What a shame, a man can never get peace. Not even in the library.”

“Such a cruel world it is.”

House smirked down at his textbook and finished his problems, glancing up occasionally to see if she noticed he was doing it. He left the library at 7:30, after all, he did actually have to get the condoms.

“Wilson,” he said in a sing-songy voice when he disturbed his roommates studying yet again.

“House I’m telling you-”

“Ababababa-” he interrupted, “don’t care. Get ready.”

Wilson groaned and stood to change, giving him a dirty look on his way into the bathroom. House took the time to change his shirt, but other than that a few sprays of cologne on his neck were more than enough preparation. When it came to Wilson, though, House was sure the man would never finish.

“It is 8:45, my _God-man_ , we are not going to the Ritz.”

Wilson came out of the bathroom in a light blue button-up and khaki shorts. 

“You look like a frat boy that drops things in girls' drinks,” he said.

“That does happen to be my favorite activity.”

House snorted, “right.”

They chatted as they walked through the campus to get to Dylan’s dorm. It was only a quarter-mile or so away, and House wasn’t completely annoyed by the company, so all in all it wasn’t so bad.

“He said it was 56,” House said.

“Alright.”

House put his ear up to the door and heard the music blasting out of it, “this is definitely it.”

The room already smelled like beer and sweat.

“Hey,” Dylan said, pulling House under his arm and dragging him over to his friends, “this is my friend over here- uh…”

“House,” House said, smiling with wide teeth.

“Yeah, my best friend. And this is his…”

“Roommate,” Wilson offered while standing awkwardly.

“Yeah, his roommate.”

House grabbed a beer from the counter and guzzled it before Wilson had the chance to see him.

“Hey,” the girl from the library said.

House raised his eyebrows, “hello again. Have your tits grown since the last time we talked?”

“Do you think so?” She came closer and he could smell the alcohol on her tongue.

“It would be a medical mystery,” he leaned closer to her face.

“Good one, I hope.”

“Miracle,” and he was kissing her fast and heavy. It felt nice to kiss her- hell, more than nice. The last time House had kissed someone was Rebecca, and that had been months ago. She tasted sweet, like girly alcohol and bubble gum.

“I never got your name,” she breathed when his hand moved down her back.

“Does it matter?”

“No,” she gasped.

He pulled her into the bathroom that was nearby and pressed her against the wall. Aggressive, was typically his approach when it came to bathroom hookups. Touch in the places she would like, kiss the spots he knew would get her going. It was just another puzzle.

“Oh my god,” she moaned into his ear when he found the right place between her thighs.

“Don’t give him the credit,” he pushed her hips into the wall and unzipped his pants with fumbling fingers.

“House?” there was a knock on the door.

“Little busy,” he yelled, and when a response came he pressed on.

“Your friend looking for you?”

“Can’t say I really care right now,” he licked her breast with the curve of his tongue and she arched into him.

When it was over, and he had thrown the condom into the trash, they stumbled out of the bathroom into the raging party. Wilson, House noticed immediately, was hanging around in the corner with a brunette. 

“Did you just have sex in my bathroom?” A considerably more intoxicated Dylan asked him.

“Would you be mad if I did?”

“Well-”

House put up a hand, “that was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh,” Dylan stared blankly at his hand.

“Who's the girl my roommate is with?” He asked nonchalantly.

“That’s Jess, psych major.”

“Perfect,” House affirmed and walked over to them.

“Can you psychoanalyze my friend here? I’ve heard he has some extreme mental disorders.”

Jess looked up from Wilson and grimaced, “it doesn’t seem so to me.”

“Oh, well, there’s always other careers. Though you don’t really have the legs for pole dancing.”

“House-” Wilson started to say in horror, but Jess was already storming away in fury.

“Sorry,” House gritted his teeth and tried to act innocent.

“Is this what you do? Drag your friends to parties they don’t want to go to and then ruin their chance at getting laid?”

“I think it’s interesting you called me your friend,” House raised an eyebrow and felt his chest warm.

Wilson rolled his eyes, “I’m leaving. There’s no reason to stay anymore.”

“Wilson! It’s only 11:30!”

“Come with me or don’t, I couldn’t care less. Although,” he started to walk toward the door but turned to address him once more, “I’d wait at least twenty minutes before coming back to the room.”

House smirked as the door opened and Wilson left the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please leave a comment. They make my week :)


	5. Realization is a Dangerous Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House has a startling realization while home for Christmas break.
> 
> TW:// Self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! A bit of a heavy one, so heed the TW.

House tried very hard at John Hopkins at a variety of things. Most of his assignments were turned in on time, he had an A average grade, girls were easy enough to get- hell he even made a few friends. He liked college, though, to anyone around him, they wouldn’t know. House liked to go around pretending he hated everyone and everything when in all actuality he was having the time of his life.

He fixated on his tasks, drawn out like a perfect and linear shopping list in his brain, and didn’t bother to focus on something that didn’t make the cut. More specifically, he was so focused on  _ not  _ thinking about going home for Christmas that when the time actually came, House lay frozen in his dorm bed at three am trying to fall asleep.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Wilson’s soft, half-asleep voice whispered. House kept his mouth shut, “Is something wrong?”

House snorted a little bit, “no. Go to sleep.”

He heard the sheets on the bed across from him rustle, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Throughout the months, House had gotten to know his roommate. He learned Wilson was pretty good at reading him. It was odd to have someone understand him so well. It was weird too, partly because House couldn’t seem to reciprocate. To Wilson, House was an open book. To House, Wilson was that puzzle he just couldn’t figure out and he worried he never would. It thrilled him to know he might never. 

“House?” He had been too deep in thought to reply a minute ago.

“Are you looking forward to going home?”

Wilson was quiet in his thoughts for a moment, “I don’t know- part of me is. The other is…”

House figured this was a good time as ever to test their friendship, to figure out how far he could push Wilson before the man snapped, “Does it have to do with the divorce?”

Wilson laughed a little, “we’re supposed to be talking about you.”

“I’m pretty good at avoiding that”

“Yeah,” Wilson sighed, “you are”

House pressed on, “Why did you really marry her?” He almost added a joke- potentially about her ass- but he refrained. It was a genuine answer he wanted.

“It’s… complicated.”

“That’s a lame answer.”

“It’s true.”

House rolled over onto his side to try and see Wilson in the subtle light from the window. His hair was barely visible, a messed up tussle begging to be brushed. It suited him better, House thought briefly.

“Did you love her?”

He saw the outline of Wilson’s throat bob, “I thought… I thought I did. Maybe. I guess I don’t know if I ever did.”

House stayed silent, expecting more.

“Have you ever been in love before?”

It was House’s turn to swallow- the spit sliding down his throat like thick syrup burning on the way down, “once.”

“Who?” 

“Do you really want to know?” House gritted his teeth. He couldn’t tell Wilson the truth- not ever.

“Yes.” 

“Back in high school,” House said, “made me want to be a doctor.”

“What happened?”

“Family wasn’t a fan,” he blinked quickly at the ceiling, “broke up in Sophmore year.”

“Oh,” Wilson said and paused for a second like he had come to the most dramatic of realizations, “I don’t think I ever have been.”

“Plenty of time to find yourself a ball and chain,” House offered, trying a little to lighten the mood.

Wilson chuckled, “I haven't even packed my back to go home yet.”

“I figured you would do it for me,” House replied, and was satisfied with the groan he got.

House went home for Christmas. His father treated him coldly like his son was just a stranger sleeping in his house for a month that happened to be related to him. What else could House have wanted, anyway? The coldness was far better than any other conceivable option. He spent days drinking and studying, wishing he were back at school, back with Wilson.

Wilson’s absence sat like a weight in his stomach, a nagging sensation that a part of his life was missing. It caught him off guard. House didn’t like to get dependent on people, it always ended badly. Perhaps he had let his walls down too much around his roommate. 

On Christmas day, after he had eaten dinner, the house phone rang. 

“It’s eleven pm on Christmas, whoever this is, it’s not important enough to-”

“House?”

House paused, feeling his heart rate pick up a bit, “I told you to only call if there was an  _ emergency. _ ”

“I’m sorry,” Wilson replied, not sounding genuine at all, “I just wanted to say uh… Merry Christmas.”

“Did I misunderstand? I was fairly sure you preferred backward books and glorified candle stands.”

Wilson sighed, “And I thought you preferred the dark coldness of godlessness yet here we are.”

House smirked as if to conceal it from the rest of the world, “Touche.”

“Dylan is throwing a New Years party when we get back,” Wilson said.

“Dylan told you about a party before me?”

“He’s my friend too, you know,” Wilson sounded a little offended.

“Treason, I introduced you and am therefore more important.”

“Sure, I’ll bring the vodka.”

“The day you drink vodka is the day I believe in Jesus again.”

“Goodbye, House,” Wilson said.

“Goodbye, Wilson,” he repeated and was surprised that the words ‘miss you’ almost tumbled into the phone line. A little stunned, he dropped it back on the receiver in the wall and went back to his room.

Why had he almost said that? Did he  _ miss  _ Wilson? Surely not. They had only known each other for a few months, yet House still felt that feeling in his stomach again thinking about it. He was halfway up the stairs when the horrifying realization hit him. It was so bad, in fact, he had to grip the railing to prevent himself from tumbling over backward.

“Gregory?” The soft whisper of his mother said at the top.

“Mom,” he replied, voice gravelly.

“Is everything ok?”   


“Super,” he smiled.

“Who were you talking to?”

House rubbed his temple, “friend wanted to know if I had done my part of the group project.”

She looked at her foot, which she flexed in a nervous way that reminded him of his childhood, “friend?”

“More like an acquaintance,” he lied because now was not the time to explain himself to her.

“I’m glad,” she smiled in that warm way she used to when he was a kid. Before his father started yelling at him and when she still kissed his scrapes.

He nodded at her and made his way back up to his room. After unceremoniously landing on his bed, House tried very hard to reason with the realization that had dawned on him.

For the first time in years, he really thought of Charlie. Remembered his face, his hair, his voice, his stupid poetry. House couldn’t do this again- didn’t have the strength to do this again. He was a weak man with a poor resolution in his own emotions as it was. 

In his second epiphany of the night, he realized what he had to do about this problem. If he distanced himself from Wilson, disaster could be avoided. House was a one-man show, too desperate for affection that he clung to anyone stupid enough to give it to him. He was a parasite that sucked the life out of the people around him until they were drained of blood. House wouldn’t do that to Wilson, he couldn’t.

When he got back to school, Wilson was already in their room.

“Wasn’t too unbearable, I hope,” he chided.

“Was fine,” House replied and didn’t miss the weird look directed at him.

“Still going to Dylan’s party tonight?”

He had forgotten all about it, “wouldn’t miss it,” Wilson laughed, and House hated the way the sound made his heart skip.

“Heard Jennifer Drendly is going to be there.”

House felt himself zoning out a bit, focusing too long on the way Wilson floated around the dorm room cleaning up the various clutter from last semester.

“What, nothing?”

“She likes you better,” House said, dropping his bag on his bed.

“Hmm, I wonder why… oh! Maybe it’s because I don’t  _ only  _ talk about her breasts?”

“Maybe,” he said, but he hadn’t really listened to what Wilson said.

When they arrived at the party and drinks were shoved in their hands, House already felt more at ease. This was safe, this place with girls and booze. He knew how to handle this. He downed drink after drink, and finally after his third solo cup House had forgotten entirely about his earlier realization and was having a heated conversation about Giraffe genetics with a round-faced chem major.

“Personally I think long necks are an advantage,” Wilson’s familiar, albeit slurred, voice came from behind him.

“Yeah, that’s why they are going extinct. Because it’s an advantage,” House rolled his eyes.

Wilson crossed his arms, “I know what I would do if  _ I  _ had such a long neck.”

“Suck yourself off?” House joked.

“Of course you would think that,” Wilson squinted and stepped forward, “Gregory House, a clean thought has never passed through your head.”

The use of his first name snapped House out of whatever trance he had been in. He felt hot all of a sudden like the room was closing in on him. 

“I’m going back to the dorm,” he said, crunching up his empty cup, “have an early class.”

“Hey!” Wilson called, walking to catch up with him. House wished he would stay, he needed time on his own. He needed to… House didn’t know. He needed to do something, “Wait up!”

But House didn’t wait up, he kept going out of the dorm and walked as briskly as he could in his drunk state back to  _ their  _ dorm.”

“Are you offended by my jokes all of the sudden?” Wilson asked because of course, he had caught up.

House ignored him and walked faster.

“What is it? What did I say?”

Anger bubbled under his skin like a pot about to boil over, “Go back to the party, Wilson.”

Wilson grabbed his arm, and that was the last straw, “Will you shut your damn mouth for once!” He shouted, sounding all too much like his father.

The man looked shocked, but for his credit, he didn’t look at all offended, “We were finally starting to be friends before break! I thought… I thought we were getting along? Did I do something wrong?”

House opened the door to their dorm and stepped inside, but before he could slam the door Wilson had his foot in the way and was pushing himself in.

“Hey, this isn’t just your room you know.”

“Please,” the words were thick in his throat, “Wilson. Leave me alone.”

Wilson softened so pathetically, House thought the man would literally melt on the floor in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

House snorted, “For what.”

“I don’t know,” Wilson blinked, “I guess I’m just sorry that you are this way.”

House was too drunk, and too stressed, and too confused to know what he was doing. In one swift motion he had Wilson pinned against the wall, but for some reason couldn’t bring himself to do anything else.

They stood there for a moment in stunned silence. For a moment, House could swear he felt Wilson shift forward, breath heavy with the smell of alcohol and too much cologne coming from his neck.

Their eyes were locked on each other, and for a terrifying moment, House thought he wouldn’t have the willpower to break away before anything serious happened, but then Wilson was really leaning in, and he heaved himself off the wall before sprinting into the bathroom.

“House?” There was a knock on the door, but he ignored it. His brain was spiraling at a million miles a minute. He couldn’t do this again. Hands shaking, he was desperate for relief of any kind. In a haze, House pulled open the drawer with his extra shaving razors and sliced it across his arm. 

It was a deep cut, but not one bad enough to need stitches. The burst of calmness immediately radiated up his spine. House took some deep breaths and felt the blood drip down his arm onto the floor. His eyes were bloodshot in the mirror across from him the last time Wilson knocked on the door, and he closed his eyes.

When he felt in control again, House sloppily wrapped his arm with gauze and rinsed the blade under the faucet. Hanging on the shower rod was Wilson’s sweatshirt, and to hide the bandage he pulled it on, barely registering that it smelled like him.

House opened the door to a dark room, and Wilson passed out on his own bed. If it weren't for his exhaustion and the last of the dopamine running through his system, he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep.

His last thought was of Wilson’s breath on his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope everyone had a good week :)


	6. Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House wakes up to a hangover. He needs coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is this week's update! I hope you all enjoy the new character, I think she's pretty cool :) Thanks for your continued support, it means a lot to me.

His head was pounding when he woke up. Not the dull type of headache that typically came with hangovers. This one was a throbbing, constant dagger behind his eyes and cheekbones. Slowly, as he rolled over in the sheets, House began to remember the events of last night. 

Panic rose in his chest- did Wilson remember? Had he screwed everything up? He ran his hand across his face and felt the bandage on his arm brush up against his nose. It had bled through, and the outside was a brown mess. Luckily, Wilson was still sleeping peacefully across the room with his mouth slightly open. 

House swallowed back the taste of stale alcohol and rot as he stood to leave. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he knew it was out of this room. Away from Wilson. He couldn’t bear to be there when Wilson woke up. House was not a religious man- he hated it- but at that moment he prayed to God Wilson wouldn’t remember.

With his tan jacket wrapped around his shoulders, House left the dorm and headed to the closest coffee shop. He felt stupid when he walked in- totally out of place. He had never gone to this one before, it was on the edge of campus and the crowd there was, well, interesting. Most of the time House liked to isolate himself. Everyone who had ever cared about him left eventually, so why should he even bother trying to find a new hunk of flesh to put his trust into. But House couldn’t be alone, not today.

“What can I get for you?” The slightly overweight, red-haired girl at the counter asked him when he approached it.

He almost made a comment about it, but couldn’t find the energy for insults, “cream and sugar.”

She smiled at him, “two-fifty.”

“Two fifty? For a coffee?”

The girl gritted her teeth and nodded, “tell me about it.”

He handed her two crumpled ones and didn’t miss her glance at his arm, “here.”

“We have tables you can sit at if you like.”

“Do I have to pay a rate for the chair?”

“No, but if you scare away customers that’s gonna charge you extra” she laughed and turned to make his coffee. 

He found a table in the corner that already had a book sitting on it. _ The Happy Prince _ . The irony was almost unbearably insulting, but he flipped through it anyway. There had been a time when books like this were spread out over his bedroom floor as frost coated the windows and Charlie’s nose was pink. House hated how he was thinking about it again.

“One coffee with sugar and cream,” the red-haired barista said, placing it down on the coaster to his left.

He huffed a thank you and kept reading.

“You like Wilde?”

“No.”

“You seem pretty interested.”

House glared at her over the pages, “have to read it for a class.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you somehow know everything about my class schedule.”

“I know you didn’t bring it,” she pulled the book from his hand and flipped to the back where the name  _ Robin _ was written in cursive writing, “because it’s mine.”

House sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, “why are you even over here.”

She decided to sit in the chair across from him and lean forward, “not many customers right now.”

“So,” he asked, “shouldn’t you be making cookies in the shape of hearts and peace signs in the back?”

“If you don’t like the idea of this place, why did you come?”

House snorted, “Why did you come to sit over here?”

“Quid pro quo.”

“It’s the closest one to me,” he lied.

“No, it’s not.”

House rolled his eyes, “oh, so you know where I live now?”

“I know you’re a university student from your age and dog breathe, which means this is not the closest one to you. I’ve also never seen you here before.”

“Fine, it’s not. Now, why did you come to sit here?”

“That’s not fair, you didn’t actually answer my question.”

She was getting more combative, sitting up straight in her chair and squinting her eyes at him. He was glad of it, she was a good distraction, “was avoiding someone.”

“Who?”

“Ah ah ah,” he wagged a finger at her, “you first.”

“I found you interesting.”

“Interesting?” He deadpanned.

“You don’t look like our usual patrons but you do like you watched your mother get hit by a bus,” she shrugged, “I find that interesting.”

“What, am I not dressed flamboyantly enough for you?”

“It’s not that,” she looked at his arm with the bandage he had forgotten to change, “there are other reasons you might fit in here.”

“You just totally changed the subject.”

She smiled briefly, a twist of nice lips and duck of the head, “maybe that was the point.”

“You’re a psychology major,” he groaned, “I didn’t come here for a therapy session.”

“Didn’t you?”

House took a sip of his coffee, which was, unfortunately, some of the best he’d ever had, “two fifty, huh?”

“Two fifty.”

“It’s awful.”

Her eyes glimmered, “terrible.”

House downed the rest of the cup without breaking eye contact. When he left the shop, he realized she hadn’t even asked for his name.

He wanted to go right to his class, but miserably realized he had left his backpack in the dorm. Wilson was surely up by now, and he felt his stomach turn over. It was with great care he opened the doorknob.

Sure enough, Wilson was studying at his desk.

“Hey, House,” he said without looking up.

“Morning sunshine,” House responded loudly. Wilson flinched and rubbed his eyes.

“Where were you so early?”

“Germany.”

Wilson groaned, “did you bring me a coffee?”

“Why would I do that exactly?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he threw one hand in the air, “maybe it’s because you dragged me to another party, got me blackout drunk, and made me miss my first class.”

“Well to be fair, I was never blackout drunk,” he replied casually, but relief flooded through him. Wilson didn’t remember and everything could continue on as normal.

“Of course not, that would be terribly irresponsible.”

“Hey,” House said after swinging on my backpack and feigning surprise, “I didn’t drag you to that party. I actually remember you telling  _ me  _ about the party.”

“Caught me.”  
“So sneaky, Wilson.”

“Have a good class!” He called as House shut the door as loud as possible and smiled when he heard Wilson’s groan.

Dylan was in his usual seat.

“You good, man?” He asked when House, who had replaced his bandage in the bathroom, sat next to him.

“Why would I not be good, again?”

“You and Wilson kind of stormed out last night.”

House swallowed, “he had a chick waiting for him back at our dorm. Couldn’t miss it.”

“Damn,” Dylan said, looking impressed, “was she hot?”

“Big tits, yeah.”

“Did you share her or something?”

Many unwanted thoughts swarmed into House’s head at the suggestion, “No, imbecile, we did not share her.”

“Shame,” he replied, and House didn’t know what to say to that.

The class went slow, and House found himself thinking about Robin. Who the hell was she? Obviously, she was also fucked up- how else would she have put the pieces together about his arm. He wanted to know what she thought of him, and it was odd for him to feel that way. House didn’t like psychologists very much- saw them as failed doctors who still wanted the big bucks without getting their hands dirty. There was something about this girl, though, that kept him interested.

In the weeks that followed, House kept going to the same coffee shop. When Robin was working and it wasn’t busy, she would sit at the table with him and talk. House was bad at small talk, hated it. With Robin, it didn’t feel like small talk. She was intelligent, that much was obvious. They had similar views on religion and the connotations with it, they talked about correlations between a patient's mental state and physical treatment. House came to learn more from their conversations than his classes.

“You want to watch a movie or something?” He asked her on a Friday morning.

“What?”  
“In my dorm.”

“Why?”

House looked at her curiously, “I know you’re fairly slow, so I’ll let it slide this once. Do you want to watch a movie? With me. In my dorm.”

“But why?”

House shrugged, “Roommates out tonight, he has a date.”

She furrowed her eyebrows at him, and House felt like he was being analyzed, “I'll bring the food if you pay."

"With your card, sure."

Wilson adjusted his tie and did the last ruffle of his hair, “how do I look?”

House was getting a bag of popcorn out of the microwave and popped a few pieces into his mouth. Wilson looked very clean and proper, “like you walked out of a Ladies Monthly magazine.”

Wilson rolled his eyes, “Seriously, House.”

House really looked at him then. The way his nose curved at a perfectly wrong angle, the little indents where his dimples formed themselves. It made his mouth go dry around the popcorn. In a controlled motion, he reached forward and adjusted Wilson’s tie, letting his hand linger a little too long.

“You look fine, now get out.”

“What are you doing tonight?” He adjusted his sleeves once more.

“Jerking off.”

Wilson flustered a bit, and House was proud that he could still do that, “Wonderful.”

Robin came twenty minutes late.

“Look who’s exactly on time,” he said with sarcasm.

“Me. I’m on time,” she dropped the bag of hamburgers on the table, “guy forgot to give me extra fries.”

“Yeah, like you need those.”

“Original,” she rolled her eyes and they sat on the couch, “what are we watching?”

“Porn?”

“Give me that,” she reached over him for the remote and their hands brushed. House hadn’t gotten laid in a really, really long time. He liked Robin- liked her a lot. In the spur of the moment, he leaned forward and kissed her.

She pulled back immediately and wiped her mouth, “what the fuck?”

“Have you never had a kiss or something?”   


“Of course I have,” and for the first time he saw her blush, “just not with…”

Realization dawned on him, “ah.”

“I thought you knew-”

“I guess the whole working at that coffee shop should have given it away.”

“Yeah,” she looked so disappointed. House wanted to punch himself.

“I’m not going to apologize.”

“I don’t want you to,” she gave a strained laugh, “I just thought you were too.”

Panic washed over him, that old familiar feeling of dread whenever someone assumed that of him. He didn’t even know what to say to her.

“What, House. Are you bi?”

“Is that some kind of slur hip with the kids I don’t know about?”

“No,” she laughed, “swinging both ways. Liking both. That’s a thing.”

“I-”

“You don’t have to answer,” she smiled. Maybe he wasn’t messed up after all, “I was just asking.”

He sat there like a deer in the headlights for a solid five seconds. Everything was starting to make sense.

“It’s okay, you know, to be that way. I don’t know what anyone has told you, but it is.”

“Save the flowery speech,” he cleared his throat and put on the first channel that came up. 

Halfway through the movie, which was some old western, Robin leaned up against his shoulder and rested her head there. For the first time, House almost felt a moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Have a wonderful day readers.


	7. P-h-i-l-i-p

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with the smacking of gum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... an update. I have not abandoned this fic, I promise you. I was struggling with exactly where I wanted to take this and finally have it figured out. I can't guarantee regular updates, but I will not leave this unfinished. Thank you for still being here! And I hope everyone had a nice holiday. :)

House was dead asleep when he heard the dorm room door squeak open. Through the squint of his eyelids, he could see the light shining in a sliver as Wilson padded through the room and sat on his own bed. He smelled like sweat and booze, even from there. House felt his lip twitch, at least someone was getting laid. There was something else there though, the thing he wished he could forget. Robin told him he was normal, and hell maybe that was even true. What wasn’t normal was that he felt that around  _ Wilson _ \- his best friend who likely wouldn’t treat him so kindly. 

The scars on his wrist burned.

“You smell like the back of a whore’s minivan,” he murmured, just to piss the guy off and release some of the pressure behind his lungs. House heard Wilson jump a little bit.

“It was a very nice minivan.”

“Nice whore?”

“Wonderful.”

Wilson spent a lot of time with this “whore”. Her name, Linda, was spoken more than any other word in their tiny dorm for weeks. House would set up two beers on the small table in front of their tv and wait, hoping uselessly that he wouldn’t have to vocalize the fact he wanted Wilson to join him.

Undoubtedly, Wilson would give him a disgusting, pitying smile and say, “I have a date with-” 

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here so I can have Robin over.”

Part of this mental charade House liked to play -an ironic hand of cards- was the fact he told Wilson he was dating Robin. In fact, Wilson and Robin got along great. They discussed some poetry books and films House didn’t give a shit about and poked each other under the table whenever they shared a random enigma of a thought. 

This facade helped Robin too. If anyone that needed reassurance of her normalcy needed it, he was there to provide it. House didn’t give out charity like that, not to anyone. He thought it was a waste of time. With Robin, it was different. He knew what could happen to her if he didn’t, and for once he cared a little. 

House was sitting down in class one day in the early days of spring heat around finals time. Dylan sat next to him with his usual half idled attention, but the guy to his left who he never bothered to know looked like he was about to pass out. House smacked the gum in his mouth and let his head dangle over to look at him properly. He was fairly good looking, roughed up morning hair, nice nose, and deep brown eyes. Maybe this was his chance to… branch out.

“You look like someone shoved a stick up your ass,” he said.

The man turned back aghast, disgust written across his face, “Excuse me?”

“I was asking you if you had a stick up your ass? Did someone put spoiled milk in your coffee? Girlfriend cheated on you?”

He settled back a bit in his chair, “something like that.”

“You buy me a drink later?”

The man blinked at him, “I’m…. sorry?”

“You. Buy. Me. A. Drink. Later?”

“You asked me to get a beer with you like that?”

House shrugged and smacked his gum again, the guy flinched, “Just trying to be honest with you stickems.” 

To House’s amazement, the guy  _ blushed _ . Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

“What bar?”

“Meet me at my dorm,” House scribbled his door number on the guy's notebook in big red ink. He looked at it with furrowed brows, “eight.”

“Sure.”

He focused his attention back on the professor for a while, and when his gum had run out of flavor he stuck it onto Dylan’s notebook page.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Last time I stuck it under the desk, and you got mad at me,” House faked a pouty face. Dylan rolled his eyes.

When the day of classes and studying was done at around 6:30, House called Robin over to his dorm.

“I’m busy right now.”

“Do I care?”

“No. I don’t care that you don’t care.”

Robin sighed over the phone, “What is it. What is so urgent.”

“I’m getting a beer!”

“A beer.”

House looked around briefly, “I met him in class.” He could practically hear her eyes widen.

“I’ll be right over.”

He didn’t try very hard to look decent- a couple mess throughs of his hair and a clean shirt was enough. He eyed Wilson’s expensive cologne but decided against it.

“Where are you going?” Wilson asked when he saw House come out of the bathroom looking semi-decent.

“Hook up with a hot teacher in an alley somewhere.”

“No, really. Where?”

House scratched his neck, “going out for beers with a friend.”

Wilson winced and looked at his shoes, “I could come-”

“No,” he answered too fast, “I’m sure Linda wants to see you.”

“Yeah,” Wilson said blankly, “She probably does.”

House gave a quick nod and watched Wilson leave. Just like that. Robin entered a minute later.

“What’s his name?” She asked immediately, face shining a little too brightly for his taste.

“I am not a teenage girl at your little gay slumber party.”

“You look like shit. What’s his name.”

House let some air escape his nose, “I don’t know.”

She blinked, “you don’t know.”

“Just didn’t think it was that important!”

“You dragged me all the way here. From a  _ smoking  _ blonde. For a nameless man who might be straight.”

There was a knock on the door and they both shut up. 

“Hey,” the guy said. His hair was fixed from before, gelled up a bit, and a fresh collared shirt around his shoulders.

“Got your wallet?” House swallowed the nervousness down.

“Yes,” he huffed, and House shut the door before he could catch a glimpse of Robin on the couch. 

“I’m House,” he blurted as they started to walk down the hallway.

“Yes. I know who you are.”

“Good. Then you know what kind of person I am.”

The guy rolled his shoulders a bit, “everyone thinks they know a person before they meet them.”

House had to physically restrain the eye roll in his head, but then the guy bumped his shoulder standing in the elevator and he realized what that really meant. They stood there next to each other as the box dropped down the floors.

“So who are you anyway?”

“Philip,” he smiled, “Weber.”

“P-h-i-l-i-p,” House let the name roll off his tongue. It wasn’t so bad.

They made mild conversation on the way to the bar, a different one than he had met Wilson at, of course. He almost gagged when Philip held the door for him.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” A grin danced on his stupid face and they sat down at a booth.

“Treat me like I’m some kind of  _ woman _ . That’s not what this is.”

Philip leaned across the table and House could feel his warm breath, “Isn’t it?”

“What is your deal?”   


“Deal?"

“I’m from Indiana. Parents raised me there-”

“I didn’t ask for your life story,” House leaned back into the booth.

“Then what are you asking for?” 

The bartender came over to them and House ordered them beers. 

“If you’re asking when I knew I liked dick, well that was probably eighth grade.” 

It was a comment meant to throw him off, but House could do this type of thing, “bet the other boys called you all kinds of fruits.”

“I think my favorite was 'peeler'.”

“Is that how you like them, Philip? Peeled?”

The beers were placed on the table with a clang of glass. Philip took a long gulp, the alcohol dripping down his lip.

“Never mattered. Ripe was always better.”

A laugh tumbled from his chest and soon they were joking into their second and third beers.

“This was fun,” Philip said as they began their walk back to the dorms.

“Your dollar.”

They stopped walking when Philip put a hand on his arm, “happy to spend.” He glanced to his right where a dark alley stretched as a shortcut back.

“Glad to take it.”

Philip leaned closer and looked at his eyes, “you have very striking eyes.”

“That’s not very original.”

“It’s still true.”

They walked back a bit, deeper into the alley where some old crates were stacked.

“I think you could do better,” his heart rate was picking up, and House could feel it. He let himself be backed into the brick wall, hard against his shoulders. It reminded him a bit of that time under the bleachers in high school. That felt like ages ago now.

Philip leaned in to nip below his chin, and House watched him smile as his own throat bobbed a swallow.

“Give me a while,” Philip kissed his neck, and traced his hands up House’s shirt, “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

There was panic building in House’s chest, a deeply ingrained response to this feeling. He didn’t trust people, and he certainly didn’t trust random men from his physics class, but Robin had told him with her full chest that what he was wasn’t wrong, and maybe she was right. As Philips' hands reached his belt buckle and fumbled with the metal, he considered the fact that she might just be. 

When it was over, House tried his best to look presentable again. He knew his cheeks were flushed pink, and Philips were the same to match. For once in his life, House felt good. He and Philip walked back to the dorm with mutual satisfaction. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, House,” Philip said as they reached his building.

“I’m still gonna copy your notes in class!” He shouted as Philip began to walk back along the sidewalk.

He paused at the words and stood still for a moment, “I’m counting on it!”

House smiled and went up to his room. There was a note from Robin on the table that simply said “Fuck you”. He put it in his jeans pocket and went to go lie down. In his moment of bliss, House had not once checked Wilson’s bed, but sure enough there he was- Lying close pressed to the wall, one arm wrapped around Linda’s sleeping and very naked body. When Wilson saw that he noticed, he placed a shaky hand to his lips and offered a dopey grin. House swallowed down his joke and stripped down to his underwear before getting into his own bed. He could shower in the morning.

“Beer with a friend, huh?’ Wilson whispered across the room.

“I didn’t say  _ who  _ this friend was, did I, Wilson?”

"You and Robin are great for each other, you know. I really think it's a good fit."

House felt his stomach drop and with it all the enjoyment he had felt that night.


	8. Women are House Plants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House and Robin have a drink. It doesn't end well. Bit of a shorter one.

Robin tossed a shot down her throat, and she cringed when she slammed down the glass on the table.

“I can’t believe you of all people were able to get a boyfriend before I could get a girl.”

“Well, you are fat after all.”

Robin raised her eyebrow, “yeah, and you walk funny and smell like sweat and cheap shampoo, which is objectively worse.” 

House snorted and tossed back his own drink, which burned on the way down.

“How are things going, by the way?”

“Going?”

“Have you… you know,” She took her pointer finger and pushed it through her fist.

“No, we have not-” he copied the gesture and rolled his eyes.

“Why not?”

“You get off to the thought of two guys having sex or something?”

Robin leaned in closer and made her face serious, “oh, for sure.”

“For the record, the thought of two girls going at it is  _ very  _ hot. If you ever do manage to get a girlfriend,” he put his hand in the shape of a phone and clicked his tongue, “call me over.”

“Of course. The only reason for my existence as a lesbian, obviously, is to please men.”

House downed another shot, “Don’t be such a  _ feminist _ .”

“Wilson’s a feminist, maybe you should spend more time with him.”

The smirk was wiped off House’s face. He had been avoiding Wilson more often, now that he had an excuse to. Wilson had his girlfriend, and House… House had his. It was easier, not being around him so much. At least that’s what he told himself. With the little time they did spend together, they didn’t talk about much. Sure, they watched sports and answered each other's study questions, but nothing personal. Their first year together of college was nearly over, and House didn’t really consider Wilson his best friend anymore. Robin was there for him, always, and there was never an undercurrent or secret. She knew him for who he was, and for once in House’s life, he was ok with that. Maybe it was time to address the Wilson thing.

“Oh no, I’ve said something wrong. Is it the feminist thing? Because you really need to get over that.”

Maybe it was because House had drunk too many shots of tequila, or maybe he was just tired of keeping this one other secret from her. Whatever it was, he blurted out, “I’m in love with him.”

“Phillip? I guess it’s a little early in the relationship for that, but hey if it makes you happy-”

House gritted his teeth, “No, not Phillip.”

She paused to realize what he meant and groaned, “House-”

“Forget I said anything,” He stood suddenly and placed a five on the table, which was not even close to the amount the drinks cost.

“Get back here right now you son of a bitch.”

House turned around to face her, and a couple of other people turned to watch the spectacle.

“What do you want me to say, Robin! What! Why don’t you tell me? Because I’ve been trying for  _ months  _ to figure out what to say, and what to think. I just can’t do it. So why don’t you tell me? What am I supposed to do? You tell me every other goddamn thing about myself, so spill! Let me in on the secret, because I would love to know.”

“Please, House-” she took a deep breath, “Greg. Let’s go back to my apartment and talk.”

He looked at her dead-on, figure fuzzy from the drinks, “You can let out your brainless psychology degree on another lab rat.”

The bar door closed with a bang, and House walked alone to the dorms. His feet took him up the stairs, but not to his own floor. Instead, he ended up at another and knocked.

“House?” Phillip said, dressed in pajama bottoms and a white shirt. He had clearly just woken up, “What is going on, is everything ok?”

“Your roommate in?”

“No, he’s at his-”

House wasted no time shoving his lips against Phillip’s. They were dry from sleep but House didn’t care. He felt himself being pulled into the room and the door shut as he was slammed up against it.

“Not that I’m disappointed,” Phillip panted, already running his hands up House’s shirt, “but what’s the occasion?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Not really.”

The kiss continued down his neck and chest, and with a nod of House’s approval, his shirt was lifted over his head. He could feel Phillip’s mouth leaving hot bruises along his torso and his own body leaning into each one, hands running through the hair that kept traveling down.

Without warning, Phillip had his fly down and his jeans were around his ankles. This wasn’t the first time they had done this, and House needed more. Something else.

“Stop, wait-” he swallowed and heard Phillip groan.

“What.”

“More.”

The frown growing on Phillip’s face morphed into a sick grin, and he pulled House to his bed and shoved him down on it. House had never done this before, not even with…

“Don’t worry,” Phillip said, reaching into his drawer, “It’s fun. You’ll like it.”

He did like it. He liked it a lot.

After, they lied together on the crumpled sheets covered in sweat. House’s chest was light, and pleasure still buzzed through to his toes. He turned his face to see Phillip, who looked particularly handsome in the glow from the window. If House was being honest with himself, he had come here for an outlet, some steam to blow off. What he had gotten was something else entirely. It was a switch in his heart and an unintentional one at that. 

Phillip noticed he was staring and turned to kiss him slowly on the mouth, “you should probably leave, at some point.”

“Some point?” It was House who started to kiss down this time.

Phillip laughed, “House.”

When House didn’t stop, Phillip tucked his fingers under his chin and tilted it up, “Stop. You can’t stay, I don’t know when my roommate will be back.”

“Right,” House slid off the bed and moved to collect his scattered clothes. He could feel Phillip’s stare.

“Thanks for the view.”

House turned and pulled his shirt over his head, smiling. 

When he got back to his own dorm, the lights were off. Not trying particularly hard to be quiet for the benefit of his roommate, House made his way to their bathroom and moved to wash up with the sink and a hand towel. He could shower in the morning. From the main room, he suddenly heard labored breathing and small gasps.

“Wilson?” he said, picking his head up from the faucet stream. The gasps stopped, and House stepped out of the door. He hadn’t seen before because of the darkness, but Wilson was huddled in his bed leaning against the wall, a wad of tissues in his hand.

“What the hell happened with you?”

“I don’t need your insults tonight so please just ignore me,” Wilson managed to plead.

“Come on Wilson, I’m not that bad.”

“Linda… she broke up with me. For no reason. I… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

House didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t like ‘comfort’ and never had, “You swamped her, Wilson. All you ever did was be with her. Never gave her any space.”

“Is that what women want? Space? I thought they were the opposite.”

“I-”

“What do you do? With Robin.”

House bit back a pained laugh, “I tell her what I want. She tells me what she wants,” he swallowed, tasting traces of tequila on his tongue, “I tell her what I want. Simple.”

“Simple,” Wilson huffed, “Of course you’d say that.”

"Say what?"

"You always know what you want."

An ache blossomed in his stomach that House ignored, “Women are house plants, Wilson. Some need constant sunlight and no water, some need a little sunlight and a lot of water. Some need a lot of both. Some need neither of both. You just have to figure out which species they are first.”

Wilson went silent for a moment, “that was actually ok advice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“It’s just-” Wilson bit his tongue, “thanks. How was your night?”

“Awful,” he lied, and for the first time in months, the weight of Wilson’s gaze wasn’t suffocating to be under. He was glad for Phillip. Maybe now he could go back to having a normal friendship with Wilson. Phillip was a good plant, clear and obvious in his needs and intentions. It was nice to be sure of that for once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your wonderful comments! I love knowing people are enjoying this story as much as I am :)


	9. Finals Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is stressed. Very stressed. More than House could know. 
> 
> tw//self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vacation week = a backlog of chapters that I will write and publish accordingly. Thanks for your continued support, Things are going down soon.

Wilson, still mourning his relationship with Linda, was having an aggressively difficult time studying for finals. But House, utilizing his combination of skills regarding both procrastination and looking at Phillip’s notes, was having a wonderful time watching a soap opera on their television.

“Can you turn that down please?” 

House ignored him and turned the volume up, smiling inside at the groan he heard across the room.

“I know you are hard set on not studying for these finals, but for god sakes please let  _ me _ be a responsible student.”

“I am studying, Wilson. The photons in the television screen are what allow me to watch this show. Gravity is keeping me seated here in this chair. Is that not enough?”

“Why can’t you just go bother Robin?”

Robin was working at the coffee shop today, and House had been considering dropping by anyway.

“I was going to, but now that you’ve said it, the fun is gone.”

The volume on the tv continued to blare, and after a few moments, Wilson’s chair came skidding across the floor as he stormed to the couch. His eyes had massive bags underneath them, hair oily from not taking care of himself. 

“Get out House, now.”

“I live here.”

“I need to do well on these tests, I have to do well. I’m done with your jokes and your banter. I’m done. I can’t fail them or else…” House couldn’t believe he was seeing tears form in Wilson’s eyes, “I won’t let you be the reason. Get out.”

House stood there a little dumbfounded. It wasn’t often Wilson really raged at him. He nodded his head and grabbed his wallet before leaving the door with a bang shut. Through the wood, he heard Wilson slam something else before the noise died down and House made his way to the coffee shop.

To his surprise, Robin was sitting at one of the tables. Someone was across from her, but he couldn’t quite tell yet. 

“Look who graced us with his presence,” She moaned when he walked in.

“Well if anyone knows about having a large presence, it’s you, Robin.”

“That was rude, House,” Phillip said, startling him a little bit.

“Phillip?”

“We were having coffee and talking about you behind your back,” she smiled and took a sip. She had a black eye, healing slightly but still fresh.

“What happened, got in a fight with a cat?” He bit his lip to hold in the laugh.

“Do you have a cat?” Phillip asked innocently, looking genuinely interested in her pet, “I like cats.”

“I don’t know,” House sat in the booth next to Phillip and grinned, “she sure wishes she did.”

“I do have a cat, actually,” she addressed Phillip, but her tone suggested otherwise.

House leaned across the table, “since when?”

“Last night,” she gestured at her eye.

“I’m sure that your cat did not mean to hurt you,” Phillip offered.

“Oh, don’t worry, she’s into that.”

Robin cleared her throat, “How is Wilson, House?’

“Wilson?” Phillip raised his eyebrow, “your roommate?”

“Got dumped. He’s no fun.”

“That’s unfortunate for him,” Robin said.

“Not just for him, look who has to deal with the moaping med student.”

“It is finals season, maybe you should help him,” Phillip offered.

“Wilson doesn’t need my help.”

“Well, boys, this was fun,” Robin stood, grabbing her half-finished cup of coffee and retreating behind the counter, “break is over.”

“There are no other customers in the restaurant.”

“Can’t hear you over my hard labor.”

“Yeah, rant about your hard labor to your cat,” House stood and tapped Phillip’s shoulder, “want to get out of here?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

They ended up in the college library bathroom, which was, admittedly, not the best place for what they were doing. It was nice, though.

“Robin doesn’t have a cat, does she,” Phillip breathed into his lips as he was shoved into the wall.

“What makes you think that?” House kissed down under his ear and worked to his shoulder.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

House paused and stepped back, “no, but whatever you say next might be.”

“Look, I’m not gonna tell anybody-”

“You think I care if you do?”

“You want me to tell everyone that you’re-”

House shoved their lips together again to stop the words from leaving his mouth. They were rough on each other, more than ever before. It was good- like he was being punished or something. 

On his way out the door, Phillip called while adjusting his pants, “I won’t tell, by the way. Meet you later for some studying.”

“Said I don’t care,” House lied as he took a relieving breath of air.

“Wilson,” House said as loud as he could when he entered the dorm, “you need a break. None of that science info is gonna stick in your brain if it’s drowning in sorrow and sleep deprivation.” 

There was no answer, and Wilson wasn’t at his desk.

“Wilson?”

The bathroom door was cracked open, so House crept over to it and looked inside. 

“Wilson!” House shouted as he saw the gruesome display in their bathroom. Wilson was sitting on the floor, leaned up against the wall mumbling to himself. Blood was dripping down from small cuts on his arms.

“Jesus Christ,” House wet a washcloth with cold water and dabbed Wilson’s forehead. He was clammy, “Wilson?” he tapped his cheek.

“House?” he mumbled, “no leave- leave me alone I… I’m fine…”

“There are a lot of words to describe you, Wilson, but fine is not one of them,” he tripped his way over to the medicine cabinet where he kept his bandages. With a swallow, House managed to get Wilson’s arms disinfected and bandaged. He had done it messily, which was almost a relief to House. It meant he hadn’t done it before. The cuts were shallow and would heal without scars. 

With effort, House hauled Wilson into his bed and tried to make him comfortable.

“I can’t fail my exams, they’ll send me home. I can’t go home, my brother-”

House sat stiffly next to him, unsure of what to do. He wanted to reach out and comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to, “You’re… you’re not gonna fail your tests, Wilson. You’re going to do fine.”

There was no way this was all about one test, it didn’t make sense. House got up and moved to sit on his own bed. He leaned against his pillows and tried to imagine Wilson so worked up. No parent was as bad as his, that was always something House could know. But his dad had been right on one thing. People are fragile and weak, little things make them shatter like wine glasses, and if there was one thing House knew for certain it was that he often was the high-pitched voice loud and awful enough to make it shatter. He didn’t want to be that for Wilson, but he also knew that’s just what he did. He was the glass shatterer. 

House nearly forgot about his study with Phillip. Five minutes after he was supposed to be there, he stood from his trance in bed, checked Wilson one more time, and stood to spend the night with Phillip. He couldn't be here and see Wilson like this, it was too reminiscent of himself.

“You’re late,” Phillip said, sitting on the floor surrounded by textbooks.

“Oh was I? My bad, I was busy giving the brunette on the second floor a run for her money.”

Phillip scoffed and scooted over to make a spot for House to sit. They went to studying faster and without as much procrastination as House usually attempted. He was busy thinking about other things. The corner of one textbook was tucked under his knee, and Phillip crept his hand up his leg to reach it. House felt his eyes close.

“You know,” he turned a little so Phillip was facing him, “I think I’m done studying.”

“Done? Easy for you to say, you’re copying off me.”

“Didn’t you learn anything in elementary school? Sharing is caring.”

Before Phillip could respond, House was kissing him. Things got more intense after that and they stood from the books to walk over to his bed.

“My roommate could walk in at any minute, you know.”

“Well then he’ll get quite a show,” House bit the zipped on Phillip’s jeans and dragged it down. He didn’t have sex on beds often. House preferred less formal settings- closets, bathrooms, alleys- basically anywhere that wasn’t a commitment. A bed was profound. Sacred, even, to someone who would care about that sort of thing. 

They were in the throes of pressure building, and if House had half a damn brain he would be able to understand more clearly what was happening as the words slipped from Phillip’s mouth.

“I love you, Greg, don’t stop.”

A slap across the face would have startled him less. Just like that, House was sixteen again. In his bedroom. The biting cold of the dog house was climbing up his neck and it didn’t the same coming from Phillip’s lips. He hadn’t heard his first name in months, not once from Phillip’s. And that phrase was poison to him.

“House?” Phillip panted, “Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” House pulled back and got dressed, eyes a little foggy, “you shouldn’t have.”

He made his way back to his own room and took a shot of vodka before checking on Wilson, who was still fitfully sleeping in his bed. The room was dark and warm, early summer heat bleeding through the window. It was already two in the morning. Everything would be fine, House told himself, summer was soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comment and kudos makes my day :)


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